


Love Yourself Exactly Where You Are

by tb_ll57



Series: The Unreachable Stars Series [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Endless Waltz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tb_ll57/pseuds/tb_ll57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Their eyes met in the mirror. Then Quatre turned, took him by the scarf again to drag him down, and pressed their lips together.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Yourself Exactly Where You Are

_You are cordially invited,_ the invitation began.

It was watermarked and embossed, thick cotton paper which bent only reluctantly as he folded it once more and returned it to his breast pocket. The signature at the bottom right had pressed firmly and cleanly, leaving a fine mark which could just barely be felt by the fingertip. He had rubbed one too many times, and the ink had blurred ever so slightly.

He was met at the port by an excessively polite pair of young people, one of whom held the sign discreetly requesting the attention of 'Mr Astrapi', the pseudonym he'd used for several years. The man-- boy, more probably, with proud peach-fuzz decorating his chin-- carried his single bag to the car, and the girl settled into the driver's seat, her head held at a painfully correct angle. Zechs was alone in the back, to help himself to the bar and stretch his legs after a long shuttle flight. He chose a bottle of water, but fell asleep before he could finish it, lulled by the dull white noise of traffic. He woke when they pulled up to his hotel, a half hour later, to wipe the grit from his eyes.

His young escort left him at the front desk. Zechs had had relative freedom of movement all his adult life, but discovered freedom worked better when he wasn't in an informational vacuum. He hesitated, trying to remember if he'd ever done something as simple as check in at a hotel without being accompanied by an aide or a servant. That, he thought, probably did not bode well for the weekend.

'Astrapi,' he volunteered, when a clerk signalled him forward, and he fumbled to provide the printed booking receipt his secretary had given him back in Sanq.

'Are you with the wedding party, sir?' she asked, running his documents one by one. Her smile brightened considerably when he presented her with his credit card, and she obviously re-evaluated his wealth and status. 'I'm sorry, sir, you should have been offered the upgrade. We have the Penthouse available at this time, and I'm thrilled to offer the Minister's Suite as well.'

'Whatever they booked me is fine,' Zechs said. 'I'm sure you're quite full.'

'We always reserve extra space for honoured guests, Mr Astrapi.'

Her eagerly obsequious tone rubbed him wrong. If he hadn't been quite so tired from his flight, he might have ignored it, but as it was he forced a smile to his mouth, and leaned conspiratorily toward her. 'Perhaps you could help me, then. The bride and groom-- have they been upgraded?'

Her rapid blinking gave her away. 'The, uh, bridal party have the fourth storey, sir. They booked as a block.'

'Then why don't we fix that, please. The Minister's Suite is surely a better home for two people celebrating the most momentous day of their lives, isn't it?' He slid his card across the desk, stopping it a precise inch from the edge. 'You can switch me into their room. And why don't you make a nice surprise out of it; they shouldn't be bothered with niggling details about who paid for what. Why don't you present the surprise to them at the rehearsal dinner tonight? A bottle of champagne with the new key, perhaps.'

Her smile faded a few notches before she managed to haul it up again. 'A lovely idea, sir. I'll speak to management.'

'Do,' he replied.

He was moderately proud of his triumph at the front desk, but it did leave him temporarily homeless, since the room he'd have for the night was currently occupied. He made do with the public baths, freshening with soapy hand towels out of the sink, and changed out of his travel wear in one of the stalls. It more than settled his fleeting desire for the pragmatics of normal life. Then, since he had no bed to lie in, he found himself a corner table in the bar, largely empty in late afternoon, his bag propped on the chair beside him. He drank several glasses of water and switched to coffee as he watched an incomprehensible game of football on the telly, chin propped on his hand.

'Ho there.'

He jostled his mug, startled, and grabbed at a serviette to wipe up the spill. Quatre, grinning, reached to help, gently mopping at his sleeve. 'I don't think the stain will show,' he assured Zechs, and seated himself by removing Zechs' bag to the carpet and taking the vacated chair.

'You look awful,' Quatre added then, signalling for the bartender. 'No more caffeine. That's the worst way to prepare for a long evening. You need some protein.'

'You look well, though.' The black tuxedo jacket was lapelled with deep blue, bringing out the bright colour of Quatre's eyes, his thatch of pale blonde hair swept high off his forehead. Curious, Zechs glanced down. Quatre had bony knees jutting out of his kilt. The thick ribbed hose he expected were present, but instead of brogues Quatre wore combat boots, indifferently laced only halfway. 'Interesting,' Zechs deadpanned.

Quatre's smile had never entirely faded. But it warmed, now, mischevous and delighted. 'It's not uncomfortable. A little breezy, though.'

'I imagine so. The bride's family?'

'Clan Strachan,' Quatre said. 'Non timeo sed caveo. I fear not, but I am cautious.'

'Evidently not. She is marrying Duo.'

Quatre laughed for that. 'They're well paired. Prepare yourself for a raucous event. And that's just the rehearsal.' He tugged at the scarf Zechs had donned, his best attempt to meet the requirements of the invitation. 'This is sad. Terribly sad.'

'It's not the right tartan? I checked, I promise.'

'It's correct. It just makes you look like some kind of aging hipster.' Zechs was prevented from replying by the arrival of the bartender, who coughed politely to announce his presence. 'Stefen,' Quatre greeted him. 'Could you possibly make two of those things with the avocado and macha-- It's frightfully green, but it really will carry you til dinner.'

'So what should I expect tonight?' Zechs asked. 'I've never been to a rehearsal dinner.'

'Oh, the dinner's the least of our worries. We taste the menu, which means you'll have it again tomorrow, but such is the burden of we poor captives. It's the party afterwards that will knock you back. Open bar, that's a warning more than a promise. Dancing, games, which translates pretty squarely to competition, and when the parental generation leave us for bed we're sworn to continue through the small hours of the night. The bride and groom will sleep it off tomorrow, which is what I advise you to do. I've got all sorts of nonsense to attend to all day.'

'Do you want company?' Zechs asked, unsure if he should offer. Quatre had brushed it off before, when they'd discussed it over the phone. 'I don't wish to intrude on the sacred duties of head groomsman, but I might be able to help if you need it.'

'My manners say absolutely not, as you're a guest and here to relax. Experience says please and thank you. But give yourself a few extra hours. I'll be up at six to fetch the flowers and the suits. I probably won't go stark raving mad til I'm dealing with the banquet hall at eleven. And I'm trying to keep three o'clock open for the nervous breakdown.'

'Yours?'

'Duo's,' Quatre said. 'I might need you then. You're bigger than he is.' The sudden rev of the blender at the bar drew Zechs' eyes. Quatre's head turned only a fraction, and he was watching when Zechs turned back. 'Perhaps you'll save me a dance,' Quatre said then.

His search for a suitably witty reply was thwarted by the bartender. Two tall glasses with unenticingly green contents arrived at the table. Quatre took his up before it hit the wood, and saluted with it. 'Ally-oop,' Quatre murmured, and drank.

 

**

 

'Duo was only a tolerably adequate Preventer,' Chang Wufei was droning. Judging by the snickers from the table, it was at least partially an act. Duo had his head buried in his bride's shoulder, shaking with laughter. 'We shall have to entertain the witness of his Captain to determine whether he's even half so adequate a Sweeper, but suffice to say that given his lackadaisical--'

'Lackadaisical,' Quatre repeated, giggling til he was weak.

'—approach to work, I am astonished-- awed, even-- at this unexpected accomplishment. And accomplishment it is, friends, make no mistake, for as we are all well aware, Moira Suttie Sutherland Strachan is a woman who must be won by dint of bravery, nobility, clarity of spirit, and--'

'And a shit-load of strong liquor!' one of the aunties interjected, to howls of laughter.

'And the constitution of an ox,' Chang finished with a professorish nod of self-satisfaction. 'At the very least, I've seen Moira with a knife. She could lay him low in a heartbeat if he didn't prove himself worthy.'

Zechs joined the applause for that. Duo stretched across the table to shake hands vigorously with Chang, who dropped some of his pose to offer a more sincere congratulations. Moira's face was flushed nearly to the same colour as her bright red hair, her freckles standing in sharp relief. She brought Chang close with two delicate hands and planted a wicked kiss on him.

Quatre was the last speaker for the groom's side, and effortlessly called all the attention merely by rising to his feet with his glass in hand. Though there was little besides his posture to indicate a change in tone, one by one the wedding party fell silent. Each raised their own glass, as well. From his seat at the far right, Zechs lifted his wine by the stem. Standing beside Quatre, Duo and Moira stilled, each solemn, now.

'Thank you all for coming tonight to share your love of these two wonderful people,' Quatre said. His voice dropped into the sudden quiet, barely louder than a murmur, but carrying to the corners perfectly. 'I'll save the real speech for tomorrow, but for tonight I have only one thing to say. Duo. You are my best friend, because you are the best person I know. But we mourn together for the one person who should, by rights, stand where I am standing now, best man at your wedding, sharing this amazing day with you.' He held his glass high. 'I know that wherever Heero is, he'd want to be here.'

'Quat.' Duo embraced him, and they leant their heads together, hands tight on each other's shoulders. Then Quatre reached for Moira, and pressed her hand to his cheek. She kissed him, tears in her eyes.

'To absent brothers,' Duo called, his voice rough. 'And to brothers who are with you, thick and thin.'

'That was moving,' Zechs said, hours later.

Quatre hurried to swallow his shot, giving him a wide and slightly wobbly smile. 'Hullo there. I've been wondering where you'd got to.'

'Waiting my turn to donate toward the honeymoon.' Zechs held up a wad of folded cash notes. Quatre offered first the right arm, then the left, then checked the hem of his kilt. Zechs chuckled as he bent to tuck the money into the tight band of Quatre's kneesock, bulging with other cash contributions. 'I've never heard of a tradition quite like this one.'

'L2 tradition. We're getting all the Scottishy things and all the Colonial things out of the way in one go.' Quatre missed his pour on the next round of shots, and Zechs stepped in to help. The liquor of choice was flavoured vodka, and Zechs made a face at the decidedly chemical taste. Quatre's grimace was more exaggerated, but he'd had several more to go on. 'Yech. Oh! Don't forget to write your guess, you've got to put your guess in the Pull Jar.'

Zechs found the paper and pen and rescued them before Quatre could spill on it. 'I'm guessing the sum total of donations?'

'Total on me. Well-- oh. Unless you'd rather guess the total for Hilde.'

The matron of honour was sporting the same bristle of notes as Quatre from the bust of her tartan dress, and was currently engaged in a drunken repeat of the story of how she'd introduced the bride and groom. Zechs had heard it twice already. 'What's the difference between guessing hers and guessing yours?'

'If you guess mine you get to pull me.' Quatre leant up against him with a broad wink.

'That I gathered,' Zechs replied patiently, steadying him. 'But I don't know what pulling is.'

'Ohhhh.' Quatre puckered his lips in a thoughtful frown, which lasted til he espied his refilled shot glass, and he snatched it up. The other hand snagged tight in Zechs' scarf. 'I can tell you. I'm going to tell you, but we need privacy. Lots and lots of privacy. There's baths somewhere, I know I passed them-- lobby—'

'I know where they are.' He pointed toward the main doors beyond the small dining hall they occupied. 'You mean right now? Don't you have to stay?'

'It's going very well, isn't it? If it's going very well I can sneak away for a bit. If it's not going very well--'

'It's going very well.' This was a side of Quatre he hadn't ever seen before, elated and relaxed and even wilfully silly. Normally so serious, Quatre seemed to be making the most of it. Zechs wrapped a protective arm about the smaller man, and they made a stumbling path toward the doors. Quatre got away from him long enough to run ahead and open them, but came back to seize him by both hands and drag him through. Zechs returned the favour when they turned the corner and encountered the mens', empty this time of night. Quatre locked it behind them, and stood leaning on the door.

Zechs checked beneath the stalls. They were alone. Quatre dropped his head back against the wood, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. 'Are you all right?' Zechs asked him.

'I'm going to be wretchedly hung over tomorrow,' Quatre said. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes, pushed his messy hair out of his face. 'Is it a good party? Truly?'

'Yes. Truly.'

'You're having a good time?'

'It's... a little rowdy for me,' he admitted, propping a hip against the marble sinks. 'Duo and Moira do seem well-matched, though, as you said. I think he's going to struggle to keep up with her.'

'He's tremendously lucky. To find someone who matches him so nearly. She's even a Preventer. Duo was a Preventer, you know.'

'I know,' he smiled. 'You're a wee bit past tipsy, I think.'

Quatre wrinkled his nose. 'I see what you did there,' he scolded, wagging a finger. 'Scottish jokes. Clever, my friend.'

Zechs cleared his throat. 'You were going to explain what a pull jar is?'

'Mm.' Quatre cocked his head, but didn't leave his post at the door, his slump there comfortable now, his gaze steady and his breath slow and even. 'A joke, mostly. We thought it would be in better taste for the rehearsal than the actual wedding. The groomsman and the matron collect for the bride and groom, and whoever guesses nearest the amount donated gets a kiss from us. Except possibly more than a kiss. After all, the best part of the wedding is pulling the attractive bridesmaid. Groomsman.'

Zechs had an inkling what 'more' meant, now. 'You wouldn't really,' he said.

'I might do. Depending on who wins.'

'You haven't counted all the guesses yet.' His voice emerged just a bit raspier than he would have liked, and a tingle ran through his body, electricity down his nerves. He shifted just slightly, and Quatre's eyes opened to watch him. 'Trowa Barton would take that kiss.' He'd seen Barton making his own donation. The notes he'd given were tucked into Quatre's waistcoat.

'I messed about with him once,' Quatre said artlessly. He closed his eyes again. 'Once and a half. Is it a half if only one of you finishes?'

'I, uh, I suppose so.' Zechs rubbed at the back of his neck. 'When...?'

'Oh. Oh, a very long time ago. Too long ago to matter, except there's always this tension, this, oh...' Quatre breathed. 'He was my first ever kiss. Trowa. It embarrasses him.'

'I'm sure that's not true.'

Quatre left the door at last. Zechs stepped back to let him at the nearest sink, so he could run water, splash his face. Zechs shook out a towel from the stack, and Quatre patted himself dry. Their eyes met in the mirror. Then Quatre turned, took him by the scarf again to drag him down, and pressed their lips together.

He'd been anticipating it since he'd received the invitation in the mail, with the note from Quatre printed at the bottom. _Be my plus-one?_ it read, with a loopy Q signing. And all the better for the wait. Quatre's mouth was warm and tinted cherry from the vodka. An insistent tongue slipped past his teeth, til he chased it back. Zechs wrapped him tight and close, sent a questing hand down Quatre's thigh to haul him up. He met hot skin, slipping under the hem of the blue and green kilt, and skin, and skin--

Quatre's head fell back, opening his throat for Zechs' teeth. 'I've been imagining that moment for weeks,' he whispered, trailing off into a moan as Zechs curled his fingers around his bare sex. 'Bless the Scots.'

'You've been flitting around without shorts all night?' Just the thought made him shiver. He released Quatre long enough to flip him, bending him over the sink. Quatre braced himself on his wrists, staring him down in the mirror as Zechs slowly lifted the kilt to expose his thighs. He stroked his palms over Quatre's backside before he exposed that, too, curving his thumbs over pale rounded flesh. He stepped close enough to slide his own tented trousers against Quatre's ass, watching the breakout of gooseflesh that followed. He pushed, just slightly, and Quatre caught his lower lip between his teeth, eyes squeezing shut. 'God,' Zechs breathed. 'Yes.'

'Touch me.'

He obeyed because even the thought of letting go was impossible. Trapped between his hand and his body, Quatre's entire body was taut with need. Zechs stroked slowly, teasing both of them, though he could feel moisture on his fingertips and staining his own trousers, and knew they hardly needed the foreplay. When he abandoned the delay and fumbled with his zip, Quatre reached back to help, coaxing him out and guiding him back. 'No,' he gasped. 'Leave the kilt, I'm afraid if I take it off I'll never figure out how to fold it again--'

One glance upward at the mirror almost undid him. Sweet Quatre, for whom moonlight and bedroom candles had always seemed a necessary pre-requisite for seduction, utterly undoing him in a public loo. Zechs flipped him again, dropping to his knees, and Quatre climbed over him, losing cash from all beribboned limbs as he settled in Zechs' lap. Zechs kissed him deeply, arm secure about his neck, and he helped Quatre set a rhythm, supporting his flexing buttocks as he rocked up and down. When Quatre began to shake and his fists in Zechs' hair tightened and pulled, Zechs rolled him to the marble tile, hitched his legs open wide, and finished it for them both, panting release into Quatre's neck and cursing only that he couldn't drag up a sheet and fall to sleep exactly as they lay.

But they couldn't. And they did have to move. Gingerly he managed it, when cool air and uncomfortable joints reminded him where he was. The nearness of the sinks was handy, and they cleaned each other up with the towels and handsoap, scrubbing tenderly. Zechs kissed him again and again, but finally, reluctantly, made himself stop. 'You look as though you've been snogging a cheesegrater,' he apologised, brushing a wet towel over Quatre's red lips and stubble-burned chin.

'They're all far too drunk to remember in the morning.' Quatre was himself sleepy-eyed. He hunted for the notes he'd scattered across the tile, and Zechs bent to help. He only stuffed it into his pockets this time. 'I've got to get back. Make sure everyone makes it back to their beds, no wandering the grounds. Oh. Zechs. That was so good of you, the room.'

'Anonymous, could've been anybody,' he murmured, brushing Quatre's hair into place.

'Yes, but it wasn't me, so that makes it probably you.' One last kiss, more strangely chaste than the others preceding it, yet somehow it left him tight in the throat and aching oddly in his gut when Quatre ended it. 'Tomorrow's going to be perfect,' Quatre said, and Zechs smiled for him.

 

**

 

The wedding didn't quite live up to Quatre's prediction of perfection, but it was calmer than Zechs had expected, given that a majority of the participants had still been drinking when Zechs had emerged for breakfast. He had helped set up the ballroom, when the hotel botched the arrangement of tables and shorted them on seatcovers. He had little time to talk to Quatre, who spent the day charging hither and yon with Hilde at his side screeching orders to everyone in their paths. Right to the last minute before the walk down the aisle Quatre was at a frantic pace substituting missing corsages, and Zechs spotted Quatre's combat boots on Hilde's feet when she hiked her skirt up to streak across the lawn at a pace that would have put professional runners to shame, all to re-direct the priest who'd somehow slipped past the front desk and nearly officiated the board meeting taking place in the conference suite instead.

It all came together well enough in the end. Zechs was seated on the groom's side, along with the Gundam Pilots who sneaked him several sidelong looks. It wasn't uncomfortable enough to move, but Zechs was grateful when a pair of Sweepers took his other side and provided a running commentary to distract him. The groom walked down the grassy aisle accompanied by Howard, who looked quite natty in a tuxedo despite his wild white hair. Howard tossed Zechs a wink as he passed. They'd shared a drink the night before, but Howard had been one of those still going strong long after Zechs had retreated to bed. Duo seemed nervous, but the attempted dash toward freedom that Quatre had predicted hadn't happened. He'd been pacing the lobby for a few hours, and was visibly bouncing on the balls of his feet. Quatre, escorting Hilde, spoke quietly to him, and Duo spasmed out a jittery smile. All that vanished into sudden deep calm, however, the moment the bride appeared.

She was, Zechs thought, altogether lovely, exactly as a bride should be. Her dress was simple, befitting a small garden wedding. Cap sleeves and a lace bodice looked youthful and suited her fit figure; the train of satin pooled just a few extra inches past her flat shoes. Her mother had the same ginger coiffe and stately bearing, walking her down the aisle, and left both her daughter and Duo with a gentle kiss. She placed their hands together, and they stared into each others' eyes from there after, never looking away.

Zechs found Quatre watching him, then. He offered a smile, and the corner of Quatre's mouth turned up in response, small enough not to disturb his solemn mein. But his eyes stayed with Zechs until he was called to present the ring. Then the bridal party turned their backs to the audience and faced the priest, and Zechs inhaled deeply, wondering.

'First one down,' Chang noted laconically, as the priest declared the happy couple wed.

'When's yours?' Barton asked him, as they rose to applaud the faintly relieved pair who were trudging back up the aisle now.

'Bite your tongue. I have no intention whatsoever to marry.'

'You sure Sally knows that?'

'I have no control over that woman whatsoever.'

'Exactly,' Zechs pointed out. Barton's eyes flicked frowningly to his. Chang only snorted, and laughed a little sourly. Zechs decided to count that as a victorious encounter with his former enemies, and made a point of staying out of their way once they all shuffled back inside for dinner.

He didn't get a chance to speak to Quatre til well after the plates had been cleared away and the dancing was fully commenced. He'd been sitting at the edge of a group of Scottish cousins, listening to the chatter without contributing much, twirling a glass of wine he was in no wise tempted to drink. He looked up at a tap on his shoulder, and found Quatre standing at his side. He rose automatically, though he was a little surprised when Quatre readily stepped into his arms and drew him down for a kiss. They'd never so publicly exchanged affection like that. It drew no attention now, he thought, but Quatre almost dared it on, leaning into him with no intention of moving on, his hand falling to rest on Zechs' back and stroking.

'You must be exhausted,' Zechs began, finding himself awkwardly bankrupt for conversation.

'Not at the moment, but I'm afraid if I stop moving I'll start to feel it,' Quatre confessed. 'Did you have the fish? I heard it was horrible.'

'Chicken. It was fine. Quite good.'

'Quite good,' Quatre teased him. Unlike the night before, he was sober and alert, but he had the air of a man who'd survived a difficult thing and was well pleased with the result. For all his words about Heero Yuy, Zechs thought, Duo couldn't have chosen a better groomsman. Quatre had clearly taken every detail of the event in hand and invested personally in the execution. Yuy had been many things, but not the type to take on a wedding with such determination.

Zechs cleared his throat to speak, then thought better of it and drew Quatre away from his table toward a wall. 'I'm mortified,' he explained softly. 'Last night.'

'Last night?' Quatre's smile faltered. 'What about-- ehm, you know I didn't really kiss Murtaugh--'

The bride's brother Murtaugh had won the Pull Jar contest for both Hilde and Quatre, and had collected his prize in as comical a way possible. 'Not that,' Zechs assured him. 'I meant... us... we didn't even use protection. I never thought of it.'

'You're not...'

'I'm not seeing anyone else, no,' he said, understanding in a flash why Quatre's face went frozen before it could reveal hurt.

Relief cleared Quatre's expression. 'That would have been humiliating,' he said, just a bit shakily. He laughed and pressed his hands to red cheeks. 'Well, then, there's nothing to worry about. We would hardly keep on with that forever, would we?'

Zechs was beginning to feel out of his depth. 'I think it's still wise,' he said dubiously.

'If you like.' Quatre took his hand, playing with his fingers, then turning his back to Zechs' chest and wrapping himself in Zechs' arm. 'You are enjoying yourself, aren't you? I know you don't know many people here.'

'I know you. That's been enough for me at any other party.' That earned him Quatre's head coming to rest on his shoulder. It was uniquely pleasant just to hold him, feel his weight resting trustingly. 'You don't find it odd?' he asked then. 'This might have been your wedding.'

'Mine would have been hideous,' Quatre said. 'The draft guest list was six hundred people, and that was without Takeo's side. I much prefer this. Only friends and loved ones. To be honest, though, I think I'm done with parties for a while. They're fun, but I'd like to try evenings in. A nice fire, a hot bath, a good book.'

Those, Zechs noted, were all solitary activities. He gave himself time to fully absorb the odd mix of feelings that announcement engendered in him. Disappointment, and a sting of rejection, a curious lack of surprise. Regret. He let Quatre go, trying to appear casual about it. He took a drink from a nearby tray, to occupy his hands gracefully. When he felt sufficiently controlled, he said, 'I'll miss seeing you. I never did get the hang of actually relaxing at parties.'

'I thought it went without saying.' Quatre sighed, but that small smile was curling up the corners of his mouth again. 'I suppose I'll just say it, then. Those evenings in are supposed to be with you, you great blond pillock.'

'I can't help the blond.' The rest of Quatre's words caught him up. He hesitated, tongue tied. 'You-- us, you mean.'

Quatre took his hand again, or tried to. Zechs' limbs didn't cooperate, and Quatre dropped back. 'Of course I mean us.'

'Quatre,' he began, and realised he didn't know what to say. 'I...'

'Ah.' Quatre swallowed. Looked away. His hands balled convulsively, before he tucked them under his elbows. 'Now I'm mortified. You might have said something last night.'

'I just-- this is very-- sudden.'

'Sudden?' Quatre laughed. 'We've dragged this out nearly five years. That's not an occasional affair, that's a lengthy engagement. Moira's planning to throw her bouquet in your face later. I--' He breathed, short distressed inhales, his jaws set together. 'I thought perhaps if you saw a bit of me, the real me, not just stupid-- we're running out of parties, you know, or I think, I... I've dragged you all the way to L2 to introduce you to my family. The people I really care about. You're one of the people I really care about.'

Quatre had always been devastatingly honest. Even in the midst of his confusion, Zechs was shamed by it. He saw it now, of course. Not just a continuating of their more-off-than-on relationship. There was no-one at this wedding who was not close to someone in the main party, but outside the core of Gundam Pilots Quatre had no-one. Excepting Zechs. He'd brought Zechs not just to be his date, but to make a point.

And Zechs had missed it by a country mile. He sipped his drink, to wet his throat. 'Quatre,' he said softly.

'If you don't want to leave Sanq, I understand. I'd relocate.'

That caught him more flat-footed than any of the rest of it. He gawped like a fish, mouth open, closed, open, speechless. But he couldn't be surprised when Quatre evaluated him in a long, steady look, and gave up on him. Quatre walked away with level shoulders. Zechs knew he was supposed to call out, but he couldn't.

A low whistle from his right alerted him, too late, that they'd been observed. Duo, passing with his wife on his arm. 'Thanks for the room,' Duo said, looking off after his friend.

'You're welcome,' Zechs managed tightly. 'Congratulations.'

Duo might have walked on, but his wife didn't. Moira took the last glass from the tray where Zechs had got his drink, and she clinked their flutes together. Zechs drank automatically. Moira only sipped, and handed the rest to her husband. 'I never want to look at champagne again after tonight,' she sighed. 'I remember you, you know. I wondered if you remembered me.'

He gathered himself together, and looked more closely at her. 'From where, Mrs Maxwell?'

'Maxwell-Strachan,' Duo interrupted, hiccoughing into his drink.

'White Fang,' Moira answered. 'I fought at Libra. I was seventeen.'

Duo draped his arms about her from behind, cradling her as Quatre had been attempting to get him to do. He kissed her cheek. 'I do love the older women,' he said.

The look Moira gave him was fondly tolerant. But to Zechs she was only cool and calculating. 'Quatre speaks highly of you,' she said forthrightly. 'And that's more than enough for me. Bygones?'

Her hand hovered between them. Zechs took it, and was gripped firmly. He returned the pressure exactly, and no more. 'Bygones,' he agreed.

'Whew,' Duo said. 'If she didn't like you, I'd have to be totally mean to you. Them's the rules.'

'Idiot,' Moira chided him, but chased it with a kiss. 'Go find Quatre. I want to give him his gift, and if Zechs is done with him, I'm sure Murtaugh will come round for that dance he's been agitating for.'

That was most decidedly not aimed at Duo, who only rolled his eyes and obeyed. Zechs searched for some excuse, but Moira wasn't finished with him. She waited for Duo to step out of earshot, and spoke again.

'You're not good enough for him,' she said.

Zechs looked away. 'I know,' he said. 'I've known that from the beginning.'

'But sometimes we don't want what's best for us.' Abruptly she laughed. 'I had a prince at my wedding, and I married Duo instead. How's that for a fairy-tale ending? Good night, Prince Peacecraft. Thank you for coming.'

 

**

 

He searched, but not for very long. He went to bed, alone, and listened to the muffled noises of the rest of the wedding party finding their own beds all along the corridor of the fourth storey, one by one.

 

**

 

Not many made it down for the early breakfast buffet. Several of the guests had departed the night before, back to work-a-day lives, long flights home. Zechs would be one of them, though he didn't have to be at the port til afternoon. He'd wanted a little extra time on L2. Now he felt foolish to have made the assumption he'd be sharing that time with someone.

He collected a plate of eggs and ham and turned to find a seat in the dining hall. Quatre was just entering, a pale figure in a white knit jumper and sleek twill chinos. Quatre noticed him, and Zechs raised his glass of juice in greeting. Quatre turned sharply left, and went to the coffee bar.

Fair enough. Zechs chose a table, and sat. He sliced a rasher of bacon in half, folding it onto the tines of his fork. He chewed mechanically.

A mug appeared at his right elbow. Quatre followed it, sliding into the free chair at his table. He had a mug of his own, the string of a tea bag wrapped around his finger. He dunked in studious quiet, and helped himself to the creamer and sugar.

'I thought caffeine was a bad idea,' Zechs commented.

'It is.' Quatre sipped gingerly. 'But I think I might die without it, so.'

'Quatre.'

'No. Aside from my head, which may burst at any moment, I really don't want to hear explanations or apologies.' Quatre rubbed at the spot between his brows. There were dark circles under his eyes. Since he hadn't been drinking nearly as much at the wedding as at the rehearsal, Zechs could only imagine the headache was due to other problems. But how like Quatre to face them directly and immediately, however he felt. 'I do need to deliver an apology,' Quatre said then.

'No, you don't.'

'I do. I was unclear about my expectations. I thought we were on the same page, but I never asked you. And I dropped a fraught emotional issue on you at a wedding, which just-- absolutely reeks of desperation and manipulation.' Quatre smiled. It didn't quite reach his eyes. 'I'm very sorry, Zechs. It was inconsiderate at best and cruel at worst.'

'Hardly cruel. At most, a misunder--' That was the cruel word, he thought, but he finished it lamely. 'Misunderstanding.'

Quatre sipped his tea, and cupped it between both hands. It seemed he might speak, but he didn't. Zechs carefully set aside his silverware, and the cooling meal with it. He owed it to wait Quatre out.

'My parents were married by proxy,' Quatre said finally. 'It was arranged. They never met before that, and only lived together for a year before she died. Obviously as a child I threw myself in entirely the opposite direction. I desperately wanted to be in love. And Father... well, I'm sure he didn't agree, but he never pressured me. Takeo, even--' He blushed faintly. 'Poor Trowa. You're not the first I've scared off, shall we say that.'

'I'm not scared off.' He reached for Quatre's hands. They curled loosely in his, not resisting, but protective. Zechs caressed his knuckles. He raised Quatre's hands to his lips and kissed his fingers. 'I'm not.'

'I'm ready for love, Zechs. I have been for a while. And I would like to be in love with you.' There was ever so fine a stutter in that, a breath that Quatre rushed over, steadying himself in the leaping. 'But I won't push. If you don't feel the same, if this is just... pieces of something that's never going to be a whole, it's better we break it off for good.'

The reality would never be as easy as the dream. A prince, even one who wasn't his nation's ruler, would never be anything other than hemmed in by rules. Quatre might be willing to move to Earth for him, but he'd said nothing about Winner Enterprises, and Zechs would hardly expect him to abandon it. There would be a thousand compromises, and if he knew little enough about normal life he knew plenty about how anything good could die under the weight of too many concessions to reality.

But not letting something ever start for fear of what it would become was no way to live, either. And there was no-one but Quatre. There had been no-one but Quatre since the first time they'd danced. And if Quatre was the honest one, Zechs had always been the more impulsive. Happily, this time there was there was no plunge to make. He'd made the decision last night, sleeping alone and hating it.

He let go of Quatre's hands. A flash of pain crossed Quatre's face, but didn't have time to settle before Zechs moved again. He removed his signet ring from his left forefinger. It was large on Quatre, when he slid it on. He rolled it upright, and curled Quatre's fingers around it.

Quatre didn't let him speak. He was on his feet, bending over the table, twisting to catch Zechs' lips with his. The force of it bruised him, winded him, and left him grinning like a loon.

'You daft bugger,' Quatre breathed. 'I thought you were going to actually let me walk away.'

'You really need to get away from all these Scots,' Zechs told him. He smothered Quatre's retort by pulling him down for another kiss. Arms snaked about his neck, and Quatre knocked the table with his hip. Zechs stood before they endangered the rest of the crockery. Someone whistled when Quatre hopped up into his arms. Zechs only barely braced them, and it cost him a bit of a pull in the back, plus the last of his balance. They fell. Quatre went down laughing all the way, when Zechs knocked the air out of him by landing on his ribcage. But no matter. It put them nose to nose, lip to lip, and Zechs took the opportunity to thoroughly convince Quatre that he might be daft, but he was more than capable of making up lost time.

A polite cough finally broke his concentration. Quatre stroked long loose hair back behind Zechs' ear, biting his plumped lip against a laugh.

'Good morning, Mr and Mrs Maxwell-Strachan,' Zechs said at his urbane best.

'Some people just absolutely must make a scene,' Moira sniffed to Duo.

Duo tutted. 'Jealous,' he said sagely. 'Spoilt. Far too used to having everyone's attention. Can't spare any for anyone else.'

'And in the middle of the buffet! What will the hotel think of us? We'll never be invited back.'

'That's all right,' Duo shrugged, taking a large step over the two men on the carpet, and leading his wife around them to the food. 'The Minister's Suite was kinda small, anyway.'

A giggle escaped Quatre. Zechs kissed it away. 'I think we ought to take this somewhere private,' he whispered.

'The men's is free,' Moira said, dripping innocence.

This time Quatre couldn't contain it. Zechs shook his head, and climbed to his feet. 'Come on, love,' he murmured, and savoured the way that one small word lit something warm and wonderful in Quatre's eyes. 'We have some plans of our own to consider.'


End file.
